Psych
by BettyBackInTheDay
Summary: "Sir, am I to understand that you want me to track down Agent Barton, bring him back by any means necessary, and force him back into therapy in the hopes that all remnants of mind control are wiped out?" Yes. That's exactly what Director Fury expects of Agent Romanoff.


A/N: Not exactly short, and not exactly my best work, but I felt like I needed to write something. I hope somebody out there enjoys it.

She was surprised to be pulled from the gym. Getting summoned to Director Fury's office was rarely a good thing. Usually, Natasha Romanoff had some idea of why she would end up there. A failed mission, a messy successful mission, or God forbid, a messy failed mission – those definitely required a visit to his office. She hadn't been on a mission since the Battle of New York, though, so she couldn't have gotten into too much trouble. Well, unless her reaction to every time someone referred to it as "the Battle of New York" finally warranted attention. But, she figured SHIELD had bigger issues to deal with besides a top-level agent who jacked-up the offending person and threatened bodily harm if they ever again attached that Hollywood moniker to a planetary life-and-death struggle.

She cautiously approached his office and was met by Assistant Director Hill at the door. Wonder what's up with the big guns, she mused as she stepped into the director's office.

"Agent Romanoff," said Fury as a curt greeting. "Please have a seat." He gestured to the modern-style skinny chair in front of his large, imposing desk as he walked around to sit in his own plush chair.

"No, thank you, sir, I prefer to stand," she replied.

"And I'd prefer that you sit for this conversation," he said in a way that proved he was not in a gaming mood.

As she sat down, she glanced quickly at Hill. The other woman's expression was emotionless. But, being the best in the business at reading people's masks, she noticed a tightness at the eyes indicating Hill had to try a little harder to pull off the aloof look. What the hell was going on?

"Agent Romanoff, do you know the current whereabouts of Agent Barton?" began Fury.

"With all due respect sir, I'm his mission partner not his babysitter. So, no, I don't know where he is." She hoped that came out with just the right amount of irritation to deter this line of questioning without sounding insubordinate. Of course she knew that Clint was in his psych counseling session.

"He didn't show up for his appointment with the psychologist this morning," growled Fury as he leaned forward placing his heavy forearms on his spotless desk. "Do you know anything about that?"

And another surprise. She knew Clint wasn't thrilled with the psych process SHIELD was forcing him to undergo since the Battle of, ugh, since Loki – especially because they started out as day-long sessions and bumped his training time. But, after the first week with the psychologist he quit complaining. After the second week he admitted it was probably helping him. They resumed training together during the third week and he actually cracked a few smiles and threw a few one-liners at her in between punches. He acknowledged other agents in the hallways. He also admitted to sleeping through most nights. Why now, in the fourth week, would he throw that progress away? There had to be a simple explanation. But why would Fury and Hill think she would know what it was? Scratch that. Of course they would think she knew. But why would they think she would tell them?

"No, I don't. Is it possible your," and she used air quotes, "'super psychologist' is just that good and maybe Agent Barton is enjoying a well-deserved rest? Maybe he just overslept?" Hmm. She was sure there was way more irritation than strictly necessary in that response.

Fury's eye glared at her. "Well, Agent Romanoff, something set him off. According to the," he used air quotes, "'super psychologist's' general progress report, YOU were supposed to be a part of today's session. And, based on your responses, I'm guessing you didn't know anything about that. Why do you think that is?"

She had reached and surpassed her quota for surprises for one day. Luckily decades of training allowed her to not flinch, not blink, and not give any outward sign of how shocking she found that statement. As she stared down the director, it occurred to her that he probably read her just as she read Hill. Better to come clean and see what other information she could get out of the situation.

"Sir, I have no idea," she said simply and honestly.

As he sat back into his chair and allowed his arms to hang at his sides, he sighed, "Neither do we. Look, in an organization as important as SHIELD, we are made up of the best of the best. You and Agent Barton are at the top of this elite group. You are both indispensable. I can't have one of you walking around like a loose cannon. I need Barton back here, back in therapy, back as your partner – at any cost. That crazy bastard from Asgaard has given me the biggest challenge of my career and," he let out a maniacal chuckle, "and that's really saying something. What he broke, Agent Romanoff, I need you to fix. You need to get Barton back on track."

Her head was spinning. How was she supposed to fix Clint when she was constantly hanging by a thread? He kept her going, not the other way around. Fury thought Clint was the loose cannon? Ha! Even on his worst, albeit non-possessed, day he was the voice of sanity in their dynamic duo. That wasn't saying much, but it was true.

"Sir, am I to understand that you want me to track down Agent Barton, bring him back by any means necessary, and force him back into therapy in the hopes that all remnants of mind control are wiped out? Really, Sir? You think I'm the best one to handle this situation?" She didn't care how irritated she sounded. She was pissed. She wasn't sure at whom – Clint for ditching his appointment, Fury for putting her in this position, or Loki for creating this mess in the first place.

"On the record, yes." Fury leaned forward again and turned his head so he was staring directly into her eyes. "Off the record…" he let the words hang in the air waiting for her to respond.

After long seconds of contemplation, she gave a very slow, shallow nod of her head. The Director glanced over Natasha's head effectively dismissing Assistant Director Hill. She slipped out of the office without a word.

Fury turned all his attention to Natasha. "Off the record, I want you to find him and figure out a way through this. He needs help, but something tells me that YOU are the "super psychologist" to finally break Loki's spell. Doctor-patient confidentiality, even at SHIELD, precludes me from knowing all the details. The doctor did tell me, however, that Agent Barton is actually recovering well, but he's still hiding something. He theorized that having you in the session would help Barton feel safe enough to let down the walls and really make the big breakthrough." Fury pushed himself away from the desk and waved his arms as if swatting flies. "I don't know about all this touchy feely stuff. All I know – call it battlefield instinct – is that YOU are the key. Now, get out there, find Agent Barton, and don't come back until Strike Team Delta is prepared for its next mission. Got it, Agent Romanoff?"

"Yessssss, sssssir…" it almost ended in a question, but she turned quickly and exited the office.

Fury folded his arms across his chest and leaned back onto his desk. And he thought he was desperate when he put the Avengers together! That was a no-brainer compared to this. He needed his two best assets back at 100%. The world was going to hell as he stood there. Hill had better be right about her woman's intuition bullshit. If there was even an outside chance that Agent Romanoff was the answer to Agent Barton's recovery, then he had to give it a shot. He didn't give a rat's ass about relationships or love. That ship sailed a long time ago when he agreed to protect the citizens of the United States from all manner of threat by whatever means necessary. And if that included playing matchmaker, then so be it.

Chapter 2

The Black Widow wanted off the Helicarrier. She gathered her duty bag, but didn't stop to shower or change clothes. She arranged for transportation in the form a SHIELD helicopter and informed Stark Tower she was coming in. Initially, she had no intention of taking Stark up on his offer of living arrangements. But Pepper insisted that they plan and construct a floor for her anyway - just in case she changed her mind or needed a change of scenery. As usual, Pepper was right. And it had turned out beautifully. It was only her stubborn streak that kept her from living at the tower full time like the rest of the team, opting only to pop in for an evening or two. Natasha knew she wouldn't find peace, so she'd settle for relative quiet.

The short flight did nothing to clear her head or calm her nerves. As she gazed down at the jagged buildings, rubble piles, and the final remaining carcass of a leviathan, her mind relived images of the battle. Loki's words still haunted her brain. Every punch, every kick, every defensive and – even worse – offensive move that connected with her partner battered her subconscious. Her Red Room training could only go so far anymore in protecting her mental and emotional state. Although just faintly, she could feel the sting of tears prickling at the back of her eyes. If she were on the verge of cracking, what must Clint be going through?

The chopper landed briefly on the tower's helipad and Natasha jumped out. The glass door slid open as she approached and closed immediately behind her. Suddenly, it was dead quiet. No sound penetrated the flawless glass that went nearly 360 degrees around the room. She was alone.

"Good day, Agent Romanoff," came the calm voice of JARVIS above her head.

Startled, she immediately struck a defensive pose, ready for any approaching assailants, until she realized where the sound came from. "Dammit, JARVIS," she hissed under her breath.

"I didn't mean to startle you, Agent Romanoff, I was merely offering a greeting and welcoming you back," said the AI as a peace offering.

"That's ok, J. I think I'm officially used to you now," she said as she picked up her bag and headed to the elevator. "Is Cap or Stark in the tower today?" she asked.

"Captain Rogers is in the gym on his private floor and Mr. Stark is in Malibu," was the reply.

"Thank you, JARVIS," she said as the elevator closed and she aimed to push the button to her floor. She audibly growled when she noticed that the numbers for their private floors had been replaced with icons. Hers was a red hourglass. Barton's was a bull's eye target. There was also a triangular ARC reactor, the hazard symbol for Gamma radiation, a red, white, and blue star, and a… a hammer – just a regular ball-peen hammer. That made her laugh out loud.

She was still smiling when the doors opened to her private quarters. Pepper knew Natasha would feel too exposed with floor to ceiling windows so she had her floor designed with glass only around the top third of the walls. Certainly enough natural light got in, the view was still amazing, but there was a sense of privacy and protection. She took a minute to admire her surroundings. That's when she felt his presence.

She said in a conversational tone,"Ya know, Barton, when you play hooky you should find a better hiding place."

His head popped up over the back of the couch that separated the foyer and the living room. "How do you even know about that American teenager rite of passage?" he asked in an equally conversational tone. It never occurred to him to ask how she knew he was there, just like it never occurred to him to wonder how he knew this is where she'd come.

She dropped her bag just beyond the elevator and walked into the room to stand in front of the couch. "You explained it to me a few years ago. Remember?"

After a moment of reflection, a small smile ghosted over his face. "Oh, yeah. Just outside of Indianapolis. Ahhh, the, the Morrison money laundering and prostitution case," he said with a snap of his fingers. Then the smile evaporated and he added quietly, "Yep. The good ol' days."

Here we go, she thought to herself. "Yes, those were fun times, alright. Nothing like a shoot-out in the red-light district, an exploding warehouse housing a counterfeit operation, and illegally imported fireworks just to add a little drama. That sure is my idea of a good time." Sarcasm just dripped from her mouth as she stood with hands on her hips, wisps of curly, red hair falling from the loose ponytail.

Clint moved into a sitting position on the couch and kept his eyes just over Natasha's left shoulder as he angrily spit out, "I'd take a few dead pimps over a few dead SHIELD agents any day."

Without missing a beat, Natasha developed an accusatory tone and said, "You missed your psych appointment this morning."

He looked her in the eyes. Stormy gray met brilliant green. This was an evenly matched game of tug-of-war. This is what they had each avoided for over a month. Neither could run now without being obvious. But he could try a diversion, try to piss her off so much that she dropped the topic. Time to roll the dice.

"What? Geez, a guy enters the wrong date into his calendar and SHIELD sends Strike Team Delta to harass him?" He sat back casually shaking his head.

"Apparently, I was supposed to be there, too. I never had the chance to decline the invitation because you… never… told… me… about… it," she slowly ended the statement through gritted teeth.

"So you wouldn't have come anyway? Even if I asked you?" he asked.

She thought about it for a few seconds before answering. "I don't know," she finally admitted. "Too late now."

"Yep, I guess it is," was his bland reply.

They each held their defiant positions and stared at each other. Without warning, she noticed that annoying knot in her stomach. Oh, not now! She was in the middle of an argument. She couldn't let herself go soft and emotional. But as she really looked at him, she saw how broken he was. Not physically, of course. Physically he was as healthy and attractive as ever. Wait. No, no, no. Get a grip, Widow. This is not where your mind needs to be.

He must've sensed a change in her mood because he asked quietly, "Nat, what are you thinking about?"

And she snapped.

"What am I thinking about? I'm thinking that maybe you need my help! I'm thinking that everybody EXCEPT you and me know that! I'm thinking that I'm too stubborn to help you WITHOUT being asked and that you're too stubborn to ASK me!" She began to pace in front of the couch. "I'm thinking that somehow I'm supposed to fix you, but I don't know how. And if I can't fix you then you can't fix me and then where does that leave us? I'm thinking that things will never be the same again. I'm thinking that I'm going to lose you and I can't stand…" and suddenly her hand flew up to her mouth, she stopped in mid stride, and her eyes bulged out of their sockets with shock at what she'd just said.

Without moving her body, she shifted her eyes down to the couch. She saw an equally shocked and wide-eyed Hawkeye. In an effort to regain her composure and try to keep what she felt was the upper-hand, she resumed her defiant stance in front of him. "Well? Why didn't you want me in your psych session? What are you hiding?" she demanded.

Still shocked at her outburst, he didn't resort to avoiding the question as he normally would. He answered honestly, "I don't want you to see the ugliness I've got inside my head."

She couldn't help herself. She laughed. "You think you could scare me? I've forgotten more ugliness than you could ever know in the first place."

"I killed Frederson," he said simply. "I killed Martin. I killed Eisen. I killed Coulson."

She immediately jumped in stop him. "NO! No, you didn't kill him. You didn't kill Coulson. You didn't kill anyone. That wasn't you. It was Loki! You have to understand that!"

"It was me!" he shouted. "I disabled the ship! I allowed the insurgents onto the helicarrier to slaughter my co-workers, my friends! I almost killed you."

"It was Loki," she hissed.

"It was me. It was my strategy, my skill."

"NO!" she continued to be defiant.

"I can never get over that," he said as he let his head fall into his hands.

She moved to his side. Unsure how to be comforting, even with him, she just sat there and let him feel her warmth.

"I know what Loki said to you," he whispered. "I told him all that. I betrayed your trust."

"He was in your head. He made you do it. I don't blame you."

"Doesn't change the hurt look on your face that's burned into my memory. I watched the surveillance footage."

"Clint, you can get over this. Nobody blames you. Don't blame yourself."

The silence dragged on. Without thinking, she snaked her arm around his and entwined their fingers. He squeezed her hand to make sure he wasn't imagining her presence.

"I would've killed you, you know," he said.

"No, you wouldn't have," she stated as a matter of fact.

After another minute of silence, she began absently stroking his wrist with her fingers. "I would die for you," he eventually said.

"I know," she replied. He turned to look at her. Face-to-face with no excuses, no walls – literal or actual – between them she continued, "I live for you. I could've given up or given in so many times. I don't deserve the chance you've given me. Yet, I continue pushing through the red. For you. How could I not trust you? Without you there is no me."

They continued to stare at each other. Each was waiting for the other to break the spell.

"Nat? Are we about to cross a line?" he asked.

"I hope so," she said as her mouth involuntarily morphed into a smile. She never smiled.

Seeing her smile at him was the most amazing sight he could ever remember. He didn't want to ruin the moment, but the urge to kiss her was even stronger than her radiant smile. He brushed his thumb across her cheek and raised her chin. Their lips met and everything else faded from their minds. There was only the two of them – no Loki, no Fury, no Stark, no SHIELD. They let their first passionate kiss engulf them.

When they finally pulled apart, her smile had spread to Clint, as well. "Now this is the kind of therapy I can get used to," he breathed as their foreheads rested together.

"This doesn't get you off the hook, Agent Barton. I still expect you to continue regular psych sessions. And I'll need your schedule so I'm not late to any appointments," Natasha said in her no-nonsense official agent voice.

"Just promise me each session will end like this and you've got the golden ticket to all my appointments," he said, still slightly out of breath.

"Oh, Agent Barton," purred Natasha, "I'm afraid I can't do that."

He looked at her with a confused expression. Had he read too much into this kiss? He felt panic rising. To get so close to the one thing in this cruel world that made him truly happy and then to lose it? "Why not?" he asked.

"To promise you this," and she placed a chaste kiss on his bottom lip, "would be setting your goals far too low. I think we should follow up each session in here." She took his hand and began the walk from the living room through the kitchen and toward her bedroom. His smile got impossibly brighter.

"I feel better already," he nearly giggled as he closed her bedroom door.


End file.
